


Strike vs. Ellison

by mvernet



Category: Strike (TV 2017), The Sentinel
Genre: Aftermath of The Sentinel Too, Blair's Brother, Brotherly Love, Crossover with C.B. Strike BBC, M/M, Prompt Strike, Rivalry, Sentinel Thursday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 15:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19321231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvernet/pseuds/mvernet
Summary: Blair gets a visitor from London.





	Strike vs. Ellison

**Author's Note:**

> The character C.B. Strike is the protagonist of the detective stories written by J.K. Rowlings (under the pseudonym, Robert Galbraith) and made into a BBC series. Cormoran Strike is a British disabled veteran who runs a private detective agency. (kind of a modern, working class, disabled veteran, Sherlock Holmes.) He’s an ex-Royal Military Police special forces soldier and the illegitimate, disowned son of a famous rocker, Jonny Rokeby and Cormoran’s flighty, ex-groupie mum, Lena. (Sound familiar?) For this story I changed the timeline of the Strike books from 2013 to 1998, because it's a fanfic and I can.

The knock on the loft door was firm, but hesitant. Jim quickly scanned Blair’s vitals as he napped on the sofa. Jim was on edge. The loft was a mess, with half-empty boxes and a few vital pieces of furniture. Blair had succumbed to the pneumonia his doctors warned him about after his drowning. When he returned to Cascade from Sierra Verde ten days ago, he collapsed at the airport. Blair’s hospital stay was short but harrowing for the Guide’s distraught Sentinel. Jim was trying to piece their lives back together, day by day and box by box. Jim was caring for his sick Guide with the utmost dedication to his every need, hoping his newly found devotion would help to heal all the pain Blair experienced since Alex, physically and emotionally.

 

Jim was satisfied that Blair was sleeping peacefully and was annoyed at the intrusive knocking. He reached out with his senses before answering the door and was met with impressions that were odd and unique. Curious, he cautiously cracked open the door.

 

“I’m Cormoran Strike. I’m looking for Blair Sandburg.”

 

The man at the door was a surprise test of Jim’s senses. His accent was British, a sort of deep pleasant blend of working class and Oxford educated. To Jim he sounded dangerous. Strike was tall and stocky, dark haired with a scruffy beard making his city-pale complexion seem almost ghostlike. His worn, black wool overcoat smelled of London seamist and strong Turkish cigarettes. Jim scanned his body to find his heartbeat was steady, but he favored one leg, the other being made of leather, fiberglass and metal. Strike raised his eyebrows at Jim’s silent appraisal.

 

“I said, I’m looking for Blair Sandburg, this is the last address I have for him. Are you his… the copper he works with? Elliot… or something?”

 

Jim could tell the man knew his rightful name and was just messing with him. 

 

“What do you want with him?” Jim asked abruptly, “and the name is Ellison. Detective Jim Ellison.”

 

“Jim?” A raspy voice called from inside the loft. Blair sat up and coughed for a few moments. He tried to speak again. “Jim? Who is it? Are you okay?”

 

Blair ‘s worry for his Sentinel was the only thing that could have gotten him out of his cozy nest on the couch. He walked to the door already shivering from the change of temperature. Jim frowned, and opened the door a little wider. “You know this guy, Chief?”

 

Blair’s eyes opened wide as his seldom seen, brightest smile beamed towards the dark man.

 

“Cormoran?”

 

“Poppet!”

 

Strike limped past Jim and opened his arms wide, Jim closed the door with an annoyed kick.

“Oh, poppet. It’s been too long.”

 

Blair fell into Strike's arms and held on tight. Strike closed his eyes as his black persona melted into one of relief and love. Strike pulled back. “Let me look at you, love. I read the press releases… on the internet, that you died, drowned. Then nothing. I didn’t know anything but that you survived. Why didn’t you call me? You never answered your phone, your emails. Poppet, I was that worried about you I hopped or rather limped on a plane.”

 

“Corms, I’m so sorry. After… my near-drowning I went to South America. I’ve haven’t been doing so well since… I spent a couple of days in the hospital... I mean, I lost my phone somewhere and I haven’t opened my computer in days. I'm sorry, bro.”

 

“You’re still sick, aren’t you? What’s going on Blair? Are you in trouble? Tell me what happened to you, poppet.” 

 

Jim had enough of the touching reunion. Enough of this asshole touching his Guide. “Who is this guy, Chief?”

 

Strike turned leaving a proprietary arm around Blair’s shoulders. “Blair’s my little brother, Detective Ellison, and I’m here to make sure no one is bullyin’ 'im.”

 

Jim opened his mouth but said nothing he looked at Blair for clarification.

 

Blair cleared his throat. “Jim, this is my half-brother, Cormoran Strike. We have the same father.”

 

“If you can call that prick on two legs a father. I’ve only met 'im twice. He’s a right bastard I tell you.”

 

Jim ignored Strike. “Chief, you said you didn’t know who your father was.”

 

Strike rose to Blair’s defense. “Blair never knew him. My mum was a groupie, she was blinded by the glitz, but she knew what she was doing. Naomi was younger than my mum, and when the prick kicked her preggers and all to the curb, my mum took Naomi and this little man in for a while. I changed Blair’s diapers and we’ve kept in touch all these years. There’s seven of us demon spawn altogether, but I’m not so close to the others as I am to my little brother, here. I’m the one who advised Blair to say he didn’t know who his dad was. I lived through being Jonny Rokeby’s love child. I didn’t want that for my poppet.” Strike pulled Blair closer and kissed the top of his head.

 

Jim’s eyes widened. “Jonny Rokeby? Sandburg’s father?”

 

Strike frowned at Jim’s awed expression. “Yeah, well. A prick by any other name. Fat lot of good that did any of us. Blair here is my brother of heart.” Strike looked down at Blair and said softly, “You never told your Sentinel about me? You ashamed of me, poppet?”

 

“Chief? You told him? What the fuck? You told a stranger about… “

 

Strike bristled. “Back off, Jimbo. I’m ex-military police and a private detective and I’ve known Blair all his life. I figured it out. What I want to know is what the fuck kind of con you’ve been pullin’ on my little brother to get 'im in this state and what’s in it for you!”

 

Blair slipped out of Strike’s gentle hold and stood between the two snorting alpha males. Blair’s hands were raised and his hair was flying side to side as he looked between the two men. The movement made him cough and Jim took hold of his arm and planted him back on the couch. “Take it easy, Chief. It’s time for your meds.” Jim growled at Strike. “Don’t upset him or I’ll throw your British ass out of here, half-brother or not.” Jim headed for his bedroom where Blair had been sleeping, since his futon was still in a storeroom buried in boxes. 

 

“Blair?” Strike sat down next to Blair and folded his hands. Strike’s voice had returned to its usual soft and comforting tone. “Love, you can leave with me right now. I won’t let Jim hurt you. Whatever hold he has on you…”

 

Blair sighed and rested his head on Strike’s shoulder. Strike leaned back and carefully brought Blair back with him, arm around him protectively. “Corms. There is so much to tell, but I guess the important part is Jim is a Sentinel and I am his Guide.”

 

“Guide? You never wrote about that. You mean like a partner? To watch his back? I don’t like the sound of that.”

 

“It’s close to that. Jim has five incredibly enhanced senses. I teach him to use them safely so he doesn’t zone-out, get overpowered by them.”

 

Strike nodded. “I saw that in the military. Men who could see or hear exceptionally, but couldn’t handle a flashin’ light or the sound of a firefight. The medics just called it shell shock and sent them home. I had a mate who could see forever, best sniper I’d ever met. I had to talk him down after every skirmish. He didn’t survive.”

 

Blair patted his brother’s arm. “I’m sorry. It sounds like you might have a bit of the Guide in you too. How does Jim make you feel?” Blair asked his curiosity overcoming his fatigue. 

 

“Like I want to take his smug face and smash it into a bloody wall.” Blair nodded in agreement. “You too, poppet?”

 

Blair chuckled, “Sometimes. But… I love him, Corms. He’s a good man. An honest man. I never told him about you because we... well we never talk about most things, he never asks about my past life. I don't think he's interested. Don't you ever think I don't love you, bro. I couldn't be more proud of you. You know this."

Strike nodded. When he was finally sent home from the Army hospital, crippled and in despair. It was Blair who showed up at his dreary disability housing unit and stayed with him all summer, acting as his at home physical therapist and personal ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.

"I know Jim's acting like a jerk right now, but that’s because he’s trying to deal with so much. Including the fact that I died on his watch.”

 

“What? Blair what exactly happened to you?” Blair took in a slow cautious breath and told his brother in detail about how Alex Barnes had murdered him and Jim had brought him back.

 

Jim stood at the top of the stairs listening to his Blair talking to this stranger about all that had happened to him. Jim had never seen Blair so comfortable with another person. So comfortable that the two men seemed to be drawn into a brotherly world all their own and forgotten that Jim existed and could hear every word they whispered. Jim listened carefully. He had never heard about what happened with Alex from Blair’s perspective. Blair took every bit of blame on himself, truly believing that he had broken Jim’s trust and failed him as a Guide every step of the way. He painted Jim as a perfect being. One entrusted to Blair to keep healthy, happy and safe and he had failed Jim at every turn. Blair broke down and sobbed in his brother’s arms. Jim felt his heart break at the sound. A fierce jealousy ran through his blood. He loved Blair. Blair was his Guide. His to have and to hold and to comfort. Jim was suddenly aware that he was close to losing Blair again, this time to his loving brother. Jim would fight for Blair with everything he had. A peace came over Jim. He loved Blair and Blair loved him, what better foundation to built a life on.

 

Downstairs, Strike had rocked and soothed Blair like he was his sweet, blue-eyed, baby brother again. Blair was so exhausted from his emotional release, he dozed restlessly cradled in Strike’s arms. Jim finally came into the room. Strike and Jim glared at each other, then Jim caved and motioned for Strike to join him in the kitchen. Strike tenderly laid Blair down on a mountain of pillows and tucked him in with a warm blanket.

 

Strike walked with a grimace into the kitchen, his artificial limb giving him pain. “I’m taking my brother to London with me. He can finish his doctorate at Oxford, and work with me as my partner. I’ll take care of him.”

 

Jim turned his back on Strike and busied himself making coffee. “Take off your coat, Cormoran. Sit down and have a coffee or I could make you tea.”

 

Strike looked around at the homey kitchen. He saw Blair’s touch here and there. An African healing drum on a chair. Brightly colored tins of teas on the shelf. Strange herbs with foreign labels when Jim opened the cabinets. This was definitely Jim’s place, but softened, as only Blair could do. Strike relented, took off his coat and sat with a hearty sigh as he rubbed at his knee. “Coffee’s fine I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself tryin’ to make a proper cuppa.”

 

Jim turned a bit. “Sandburg is the tea expert.”

 

“What meds does he need? I’ll have to call London and have my secretary arrange things.”

 

“Blair’s not going anywhere. This is his home. I love him, Cormoran. I’ve been a horrific Blessed Protector as Blair calls me. But that’s going to change. I promise you, now I know he has someone like you to care for him, I won’t hesitate to send him to you if I fuck up again.”

 

Jim set down two mugs of coffee and a bottle of water for Blair’s medications. Strike took a sip of Jim’s coffee and looked pleased at the all American taste. “I’m staying here, in your home until Blair is better. If I think he’s safe here. I’ll go back to London. If I think you’re endangering him, he’s comin’ home with me.”

 

The two ex-special ops soldiers nodded in silent agreement.

 

“Guys?” Blair called weakly from the other room. “I’m right here, all grown up, able to make my own decisions and I can hear you. You macho, knuckle dragging, apes. Now who’s going to make me some peppermint tea?”

 

Strike and Ellison raised matching coffee mugs and saluted their temporary truce.


End file.
